Remy eased the painful ache by stretching out his legs, taking a moment to breathe, rather pleased that she wasn’t afraid of his cat. She didn’t know the glowing eyes signaled his cat was close, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t want her afraid of him—well, maybe that wasn’t altogether true. One of them had to have good sense, and clearly his leopard was reaching for supremacy.

He gathered up the photographs and the two sealed statements. “Gage will be askin’ you questions later so expect him. Tell him I have the pictures you took and your written statements. He’s asked me to consult on this one so I might be back askin’ questions as well.” He stood up and pinned his sister with cool eyes. “Stay the hell out of the swamp until this nutcase is caught. He’s dangerous.” He waited. Still. His leopard coiled and ready.

Saria sighed. “I’m not quite the idiot you think I am, Remy. I have no intention of runnin’ around in the swamp while a vicious serial killer is out there.”

“I’ve never considered you to be an idiot, just very adventurous,” he corrected.

Now that he had his sister’s agreement he allowed himself to focus on Bijou. The moment he centered his attention on her, he knew it was a mistake. She looked up at him with her impossibly blue eyes and all those long lashes, the cloud of silky hair tumbling around her face and that mouth that needed to be outlawed and he knew he was lost. It wasn’t going to matter that she was his sister’s age. Hell, nothing was going to matter. Bijou Breaux was going to be seeing a lot of him.

“I want everythin’ you have on those death threats, Bijou. Bring them by my office tomorrow around noon. And don’ give me any trouble over it.”

She sent him a faint smile and gave a small salute. He didn’t wait for sass. He turned abruptly on his heel and got the hell out of there before he—or his leopard—did something disgraceful.

Chapter 3

3

REMY stared down at the photographs Saria took of the crime scene. The forensic photographer’s photos were scattered across his desk along with those of his sister. He kept frowning at them, because they damn well didn’t add up. Saria was a pro. She didn’t make mistakes. She’d used her zoom lens to record each section of the crime scene. She’d been methodical, so much so that if he’d put the pictures together, they would form a very accurate and detailed replica of the crime scene. And that was the trouble.